Round 01 - Preparations

After a scant three hours of slumber, my eyes flickered open. Nestled on a plush sofa, I couldn't help but think that my brief rapport with the unit's leaders had already afforded me some minor luxuries. Surrounding me, Jack, Alex, Robert, Victor, and Marie were still ensnared in the arms of Morpheus. I rose, my muscles aching for movement. Stretching my limbs, I initiated a brief warm-up routine. Across the room, Maxwell sat in a meditative pose, a firearm lying beside him on the cold floor. His gaze was locked onto the massive, enigmatic ring that dominated the hall.

I stealthily moved past the sofa where Marie lay. Crouching beside her, I took a moment to study her pallid face. The delicate scent of plum and apple from her perfume wafted into my nostrils. I closed my eyes briefly, inhaling deeply, as if trying to capture the essence of that fleeting moment.

My stomach growled, a visceral reminder of my need for sustenance. I had always had a peculiar diet, one that abhorred the mixing of diverse foods. My palate found solace in the simple flavors of bread, oats, or tuna. I navigated through towering cabinets until my eyes landed on some cans of tuna. Seating myself at the bar counter, I devoured the fish while setting a pot of coffee to brew in a nearby industrial coffee maker. I picked up the manual for the "Savior" kit and meticulously went through each item, reacquainting myself with their unique properties and potential impacts.

The thought crossed my mind: what a revolution it would be if such medical marvels could be made available to the broader human populace. But then, I reasoned that such treasures were best confined to this enigmatic locale. By this point, I was convinced that Operation 530 was designed to avert some impending catastrophe. The operation's numbering and the term "mitigation" loomed large in my thoughts. My father had been a part of this world over 25 years ago. The number 530 seemed too high for such a short span of existence.

Another question gnawed at me: why had only the first assault unit arrived? My best guess was that they were slated for later combat and would arrive sometime during the day. But the hall was already teeming with people. If Maxwell's mention of a second and third unit was accurate, and assuming the same number of people, there wouldn't be enough weapons or protective gear to go around.

I consumed a hearty amount of coffee, revisited the manual multiple times, and even made my way to the arsenal to scrutinize the available weaponry. Just then, a siren blared. It started softly, gradually crescendoing until it reached its peak and abruptly ceased. I glanced at a wall clock; it was 6 a.m.

The hall began to fill. My acquaintances stirred from their sleep; my eyes were particularly drawn to Marie as everyone headed to the locker rooms. After a while, I found myself alone in the arsenal, engrossed in the weapons, when I noticed people gathering and moving toward an empty space. I followed suit.

The group had swelled considerably, faces etched with focus and determination. Those in the front sat on the floor in a circle, while the rest stood. Maxwell and his five assault unit leaders stood at the forefront.

"Good morning, everyone. All 280 members of our assault unit are here," Maxwell announced, clearing his throat. Jack, who stood beside him, handed him a metal flask. He took a sip and continued, "In seventeen hours, the assault will commence. Groups will be divided under their respective leaders for weapon and gear distribution." The five leaders retreated, forming a line, each spaced about ten feet apart.

"Please gather behind your respective leaders for further instructions," Maxwell instructed. The crowd moved in an orderly fashion. I naturally gravitated toward Marie's group.

Her expression was stern; her eyes still tinged red, her lips cracked, and dark circles visible despite her makeup.

Marie orchestrated the group with a patient demeanor. Snipers and heavy shooters were sorted into subgroups, leaving me and another individual on the sidelines. He was another medic. From what I gathered, there were five medics in total, one for each subgroup, and I was designated as an additional medic for Marie's team.

The snipers were the first to go with Marie, leaving the rest of us behind. The remaining group engaged in casual conversation, but my focus remained unwaveringly on Marie and her sniper team.

"Hey, it's odd they sent an extra Savior," the guy, the other medic, struck up a conversation with me. He had chestnut hair, slightly overweight, wore glasses, and had a youthful appearance that belied the gravity of our situation.

"Yeah, I'm not sure if it's a mistake or not," I replied, offering a modest smile.

He extended his hand, "I'm Vitor," his smile was warm, and his handshake firm.

"Vitor? You know, I've been here for two days, and you're the third person with that name I've met," we both chuckled before diving into a more in-depth conversation.

Vitor was a fountain of information about our role, although I was careful to subtly probe for more details without raising suspicion. He offered some valuable tips; this was his second operation, the previous one being two months ago, which clarified many things for me.

As for the creatures known as "effectives," he provided scant details. He gave me some pointers on how to counter specific attacks but only mentioned their names, offering no descriptions. I couldn't press for more without arousing suspicion.

After a considerable time, Marie returned with the snipers. She directed them to the far left of the hall, where they busied themselves donning their protective gear and familiarizing themselves with their weapons. Soon after, she took the heavy shooters, and the process repeated itself. Vitor and I continued our conversation; he revealed he was from the U.S., a Harvard graduate, and the top of his class. A surgeon from a noble family, which struck me as odd. The fact that someone from an affluent background was here suggested that social class had no bearing on recruitment. I pondered that the mission transcended such worldly concerns.

Once the heavy shooters returned and joined the snipers, Marie approached Vitor and me.

"Let's get your weapons. You don't know how to shoot, right Vitor?" Her expression was stern, her usually vibrant, hawk-like eyes seemed vacant and unexpressive.

"Yes, Lieutenant. My motor skills are terrible," Vitor admitted, scratching his ear awkwardly.

"Alright, then you can join the group. Always carry your Savior kit and remember, you did great in the last assault," Vitor nodded and walked away to join the others.

Marie finally locked eyes with me. For a moment, we stood still, staring intently at each other. She broke into a slight smile, shattering the mask of concern she had been wearing. I guess the deep worry etched on my face was enough for her.

"Don't look so grim, Dante. It happens. We're here for a purpose, and dying for it is part of our mission," her eyes regained a glint of their former vitality.

"You're not going to die," I asserted, holding her gaze.

"Everything is—" she began, but I interrupted, "You're not going to die."

I stepped closer, within two feet of her, "Tomorrow morning, you'll wake up and remember what I'm saying now. Then you'll invite me for coffee," I broke my stern expression and offered a tender smile, to which she responded.

"Alright. Tomorrow, we'll have coffee together," she gestured lightly toward the arsenal, "Shall we?" And so, we proceeded.

The trip to the arsenal was quick; I already knew which weapon was for me. With determined strides, I approached a rack and selected one of the rifles. In function, it was akin to a hunting rifle, but aesthetically, it looked more like a cross between a knight's lance and a harpoon gun. The weapon measured about 47 inches in length, and on its left side was a sight that looked as if it had been forged from twisted metal. It was light, weighing no more than 6 pounds.

"This one will serve my purposes best," I declared, locking eyes with Marie.

She seemed surprised. "It's a high-impact rifle. As I've already explained to you, it fires once and then takes about 10 seconds to be ready for another shot," she elaborated, walking toward the protective gear as she continued detailing the weapon.

We picked up my vest and another one for Vitor, exchanging tactical advice on our way back.

Marie's morale appeared to be on the upswing. Whether it was the pressure of the moment or something else, she showed no signs of faltering when the action would come.

The next several hours were devoted to combat formations. Marie organized us into a 'V' shape. Vitor and I were to be at the center in the back, while she would spearhead the incursion from the front—a detail that unsettled me.

Barrels of ammunition would be positioned in the middle, and it was the Saviors' job to resupply the shooters when it was time to switch ammo.

All told, we were 31 strong. Thus organized and briefed on strategy, we rehearsed. I was completely lost when it came to the terminology, although I made sure not to let it show; everyone else seemed to understand perfectly.

At that moment, I learned the names of three different creatures: Jumper, Twisted, and Whip. Simple names, but they already gave me a sense of what they might be like.

When the clock hit 4 p.m., we were dismissed. The directive was to rest until 10 p.m. From 10 to 11 p.m., we could prepare, and by 11 p.m., we were all expected to be in our designated spots in the grand hall.

I lay down on the sofa. In the background, I heard my fellow warriors calmly walking to the locker room, some grabbing a bite to eat, but not much conversation was happening. The tension was palpable in the air. What I felt wasn't fear, but a dread of failure—a failure to all those people who had no idea of the sacrifices that would be made.

Once, when I was just 12 years old, I snuck out of the orphanage in the middle of the night. It was snowing, and I was eager to go downtown to see the fireworks. In the square, there was a statue of a World War II hero. I climbed onto the statue, which stood atop a slightly arched wall. From there, I could see the gathered crowd, happy families embracing each other, celebrating the New Year. In the distance, fireworks painted the sky like a magical kaleidoscope. I can still feel the tears streaming down my face, the bright sky reflected in the incessant droplets that poured from my eyes.

I hugged the statue. It was a symbol that honored the anonymous deaths of those who had sacrificed themselves so society could live free from a greater evil.

My eyes began to close.

That night, I finished watching the fireworks and returned to the orphanage, happy to have witnessed the spectacle but filled with an enormous void.

I entered through the window, hidden and stealthy, and slowly walked to the communal room. Standing in front of the door, I heard distant conversation. Curiosity got the better of me.

As I approached the stairs, I could hear the conversation; it was the orphanage director talking to a police officer.

"You can pick any one you like," she said in a strangely friendly tone.

"I'll choose Paulia," said the police officer. I could see from the shadows that they shook hands.

The next day, Paulia, a young girl blossoming into adolescence, was gone. The director said she had been adopted.

Many years later, I saw Paulia being admitted to the hospital. Covered in bruises, her husband claimed she had fallen, which Paulia corroborated. She explained that she was tired and had fallen down the stairs. I knew it was a lie. I could see the fear in Paulia's eyes when her husband spoke. She was a prisoner to that man. When he turned around, I still remember, I felt the air leave my lungs as if it were my last breath of life. He was a police officer; I recognized his voice from that day he spoke with the director.

My thoughts began to fade. The last thing that crossed my mind was, "Is it really worth saving a world like this?" And then my body shut down for a few hours.

During our rest hours, a group arrived. They were an oversight committee. A man, his hair dyed black to mask his age, exuded an air of authority. Dressed in a tailored suit that seemed to cling to him like a second skin, his eyes were cold, almost piercing, as if calculating the worth of everyone he met. He appeared to be the leader of the group. They met the Captain at the entrance and engaged in a lengthy conversation.

After a while, a sort of table was set up with five seats, one for each member of the committee. Various papers were laid out on the table, along with a typewriter. One by one, they took their seats. The Captain spent the entire time briefing them and answering any questions. Robert assisted by serving them drinks and food. These bureaucratic bigwigs were the first thing I saw when I woke up.

My eyes were instantly drawn to the central figure. That man stirred a revulsion in me that I couldn't explain. I wanted to go over there and attack him, but I held back. I stayed out of sight. I went to the bar, grabbed a coffee—alcohol was prohibited on the day of the incursion—a bag of bread, and ate in hiding.

After some time, unit members began to fill the hall, all already in their gear. I decided to do the same. I passed behind the table so that no one would see me, grabbed my weapon and vest from the arsenal, and headed to the locker rooms.

I got dressed, attentive to nearby conversations, but all was silent. Only the sound of footsteps and clothes being adjusted filled the air.

Exiting the locker rooms, I ran into Alex and Jack. We exchanged a few words, shook hands, and wished each other luck.

In the hall, spaces gradually filled up. The clock read 10:40 p.m.

The leaders positioned themselves in front of the table with the five figures. Members of each group took their places behind their respective leaders. I infiltrated the crowd, positioning myself closer to the front, where I saw Marie.

The armors, all in dark tones, featured patches of deep dark green contrasting with Vantablack. Marie looked as if she had stepped out of a futuristic fantasy tale. Her raven-black hair seemed even more lustrous, cascading over her armor like a dark waterfall. Her piercing blue eyes were now accentuated by the dark tones of her gear, making them appear almost ethereal.

I positioned myself no more than ten feet from her.

Total silence fell upon us all. Only the voices of the five at the table could be heard. Their conversations were unintelligible, but it was clear they were discussing mundane matters, sometimes ending in laughter.

A few minutes passed, and finally, it was 11 p.m. Sounds resembling the chirping of cicadas but with a metallic tone could be heard. Muffled mechanical noises followed.

After some time, silence returned.

"Very well. My name is Admiral Jaguar," the repulsive old man spoke as he stood up. "And I am here to oversee this assault."

He moved to the front of us all. Maxwell handed him a megaphone.

"Today, we expect a total of 46 effectives. Mostly Twisted and Whips. Perhaps some Jumpers," he paused to gauge reactions, "But we hope no Jumpers come. If one does appear, we will follow all containment protocols. The Captain will command the appropriate strategy, and the Jumper must be eliminated as quickly as possible. Forget about the other creatures. Forget about everything. Just eliminate the Jumper," he took a moment, allowing everyone to digest the information.

"We expect the first assault unit to eliminate between two or three effectives. We don't expect to need more than twenty assault units for this incursion. The periods between incursions are getting shorter. What used to be 12 months a few decades ago is now down to 2 months, so we need to be efficient and avoid failures," he handed the megaphone back to Maxwell and returned to his seat.

"Alright, assume your positions," the Captain declared with a tone of determination.

Soon, various groups grabbed barrels by handles that were retracted into their structure and carried them, spreading them throughout the open field. A few more minutes, and we all took our positions. About 65 feet behind us, the group furthest from the gate, was the table with the five overseers.

Maxwell walked among the groups giving instructions; only his voice could be heard, amplified by the megaphone.

I took some time to again look at the small panel located on the left arm of the armor. Vitor had explained its functionalities to me; my methodical way of doing things always required a lot of preparation and focus.

I did the same for the rifle, recalling every word Marie had told me.

A deafening sound of an explosion. No, actually, an implosion made everyone flinch.

The gate, the enormous ring made of a material I couldn't precisely determine, began to rotate. Slowly gaining size and practically doubling, while fragmenting into various parts, now filled with a soft blue light.

The alarm sounded, announcing the arrival of midnight.

The gate continued to spin non-stop, its center now generating white sparks, waves of light forming around it. Purple particles slowly orbiting, gradually forming what looked like a veil of crystalline energy.

"Brace yourselves, stay alert to the commands!" Maxwell's voice echoed throughout the hall, amplified by the megaphone.